PS 3521 
.1513 
114 
1921 
Copy 1 



^ 



merely Anne Marie 



-BY- 



BEULAH KING 



^ 




PRICE 35 GENTS 



Eldridge Entertainment House 

Franklin, Ohio 2^ Denver, Colo. 

944 So. Logan Stra«£ 



Money-Making Entertainment No?elties 
for Church, School or Lodge 



Miss Nibbs' Novelty Sbop 

By Alta Becker. This is a novel and humorous en- 
tertainment, introducing 'Liza Ann, Miss Nibbs, two 
travelinif salesmen, shoppers, mechanical dolls and 
mechancal maid of all work. A good little stunt where 
a short, clean, humorcus number is desired. Pl^ys 
about 30 minutes. Price, 2Sc. 

The Brightville Indoor Chautauqua 

By Bessie Baker and Nellie Hanna. Here is a brand 
new idea for an evening's entertainment. It is in 5 
parts, each part representing a day at Chautauqua. 
Gives wide scope for introduction of large cast and 
many specialties. Complete programs suggested as 
follows: Part 1, Chautauqua Concert Company; Part 
2, Living Pictures; Part 3, Musical Entertainers; 
Part 4, Farmers' Night; Part 5, Coonville Jubilee 
Singers. Price, 35c. 

Sorepaw & Fells Indoor Circus 

By Margaret S. Bridge and Margaret H. Hahn. The 
Grand Annex and Musee, Freaks, Curiosities and 
Monstrosities, never were in it with the marvelous, 
amazing, mystifying array outlined in its pages. Ar- 
tistic, ambling, agile, 'andsome acrobat:>; cajoling, 
cadaverous, costly, curious, cunning clowns; Hee- 
Sbee, the Monkey Girl of Yucatan; all of these and 
many others will be seen in the Big Peerade before 
the show starts, ladies and gentlemen. Keep to the 
right— don't crowd. Price, 25c. 

As Ye Sew 

A "talking doll" missionary play by Dorothy Crich- 
ton. A Sot of 4un -And- -some w^holosoine lessons are 
- c»nt»ined in -the conversAtton -of the -dolls who dis- 
cusar-the motives of^h«ir donors. -Splendid -for Young 
:~ ' Peo|ile'« or 'Missionary Societies.' 10 girls, 1 boy, or 
all. girls. Time, 20 minutes. Price, 15c. 



Finding the Key 



A dialog and drill for 10 or 12 girls and boys. Suit- 
able for any religious program, but especially for 
Easter. Time, 20 minutes. Deals with problems of 
youth, recreations, etc.; also with those of Commun- 
ity Life and the present spirit of Unrest. Interspersed 
with suggested songs. Drill very effective. 25c. 



Eldridge Entertainment House 

FRANKLIN, OHIO also DENVER, COLO. 

944 S. Logan St. 



^ 



Merely Anne Marie 



By BEULAH KING > 



Copyright, 1921. Eldridge Entertainment House. 



OtC\9l9?i J 



-PUBLISHED BY- 



/ 



ELDRIDGE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE, 

FRANKLIN, OHIO DENVER, COLO. 




3521 



.1513 



Y\^ 



Cast of Characters 

+ 

MRS. TEAGUE 

LURA WIMPLE 

CLEMENT HALE 

MRS. CLEMENT HALE 

CLARENCE PRATT 

JOHN ARTHUR CARRINGTON 

BELINDA MANNERS 

ANNE MARIE PERKINS 



Time:. The Present 
Locality: Any Country Town 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

As seen by a perfonner on the stage facing the aud- 
ience, R, means right hand; L., left hand; C. D., door at 
center; D. L., door at left; up towards back of stage; 
down, toward footlights. 

©CI.D 5 94 28 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 



Mrs. Teague — A stout, kind-hearted woman of fifty, with 
a bustling manner and harsh voice. Wears a plain, 
black dress. 

Lura Wimple — A thin spinster of forty-five, with a sad, 
preoccupied manner. A woman of excallent tasts 
and refinement, but with an almost ridiculous love 
of lomance. Dresses simply but well. 

Clement Hale—A rough, good-hearted fellow of sixty, 
who is never so happy as when making jokes at 
the expense of his wife. Wears a business suit. 

Mrs. Clement Hale— Proud, buxom and fifty. Dresses 
showily. 

Mr. Clarence Pratt — Ashamed of himself for being con- 
tented. Humble and in love. About forty-eight. 
Wears a plain business suit. 

Anne Marie Perkins — Tall, slender; an odd cype. She has 
a certain sad tolerance of har surroundings but a 
wonderful enthusiasm for life. About 20. Wears a 
gingham dress and apron in the first two acts; in 
the last an artistic creation of simple lines that 
shows to advantage her really fine figure. 

John Arthur Carrington — Lean, tail and fine-looking, not 
in the theatrical sense. Wears business suit and 
sport clothes of excellent taste. A bit tempera- 
mental and susceptible, but with it all a very fine 
young man. 

Belinda Manners — A beautiful girl of twenty-five, pos- 
sessing the clothes and accessories of a beauty. 
Spoiled to within an inch of her life and affected. 



Merely Anne Marie 



ACT I. 

Scene — The dininy room at M)'s. league's boarding 
house. At the rear center a suniiging door leading into 
the kitchen. In the right loall center, double doors lead- 
ing into the front hall. In the center of the stage, a din- 
ing table (squ-are) with three chairs along the further 
side and one at the right end, another at the left. Against 
the right ivall a sideboard. In the rear vyall to the right 
and left of the swinging door, china closets filled with 
china. Doivn left, a serving table. At rise of curtain, 
the stage is empty. 

(Enter Anne Marie, C. D. She takes the center- 
yriece from the dining room table, folds it and places it in 
a draiver of the sideboard, from, which she takes a table 
cloth. She comes back to the table, starts to unfold the, 
table cloth, stops as if some new thought had suddenlij 
taken possession of her and stands staring into space. 
After a- few seconds Mrs. Teague's voice from kitchen.) 

Mrs. T. — Anne Marie! /Anne Marie comes from' 
her revery.) 

Mrs. T. — Are you dreaming? 

A. M. — (going to the china closet) Not now, Mrs. 
Teague. (She takes cut plates, etc., and begins setting 
the table.) 

■ Mrs. T. — It's five o'clock and you've got the salad to 
make. 

A. M. — fas she lays the plates) Miss Wimple, Mrs. 
Clement Hale, Mr. Clement Hale, Mr. Pratt, Mrs. Teag-ue. 



Merely Anne Marie 



(Enter Miss Wimple, d. I.) 

Miss W. — (woefully) Oh, Anne Marie, do talk to 
me. I've one of my moody days. (She flops into a chair.) 
I've been longing for things that will never come to me. 

A. M. — (kindly . I What shall I talk about, Miss Wim- 
ple? 

Miss W. — Any of your nonsense. 

A. M. — (laughing) Will you have a tale of romance 
that ends well or a thrilling one that doesn't? 

Miss W. — (shyly I If you don't mind, I'd like to 
hear about the prince. 

A. M. — (^vith enthusiasm) Ah — the prince! The 
prince of the House of Teague. 

Miss W. — (always cautious) S-sh! 

A. M. — Have you wished for him? Wished with all 
the power of your being? (Miss W. nods fervently.) 

Miss W. — The ouija told me he would come — very 
soon. 

• A. M. — Ah! Perhaps tonight. 

Miss W. — (tense) Will we know him when he 
comes ? 

A. M. — (more to herself) I shall know him. 

Miss W. — (plaintively) I don't feel so certain about 
myself. 

A. M. — I shall feel his presence. If twenty men 

come to Mrs. Teague's for board and room and he is 
among them I shall know him. 

Miss W. — Oh. dear! I've kind of lost faith in my- 
self since — since I mistook Mr. Pratt for the prince. 

A. M. — That's because he looked like one and how 
were you to know he was a dry goods clerk with those 
features? 

Miss W. — Ah, to be sure. 

A. M. — Mind you, I'm not saying the prince will he 
handsome. 

Miss W. — (trying not to be disappointed) No-o. 



Mircly Anne Marie 



A. M. — Beauty is weakness in a man. 

Miss W. — (wishing she could believe it) Of course. 

j^ M. — (gesturing freely) But the prince will have 
the grand manner, and a twinkle in his eye. Oh, no! Miss 
Wimple, he's no rosy youth, this prince. He's a man with 
a knowledge of human nature and the poise of a thou- 
sand drawing rooms, and a tongue of a teller of tales. 
Perhaps — perhaps he has sounded the depths! 

Miss W\— What? 

A. M. — Perhaps he has sounded the depths. You 
have to, you know, to scale the heights. 

(Mrs. league's voice from the kitchen.) 

Mrs. T. — Anne Marie, are you dreaming? 

A, M. — (running for the knives and forks in side- 
board draiverj No — Mrs. Teague, I'm arranging the sil- 
ver. (To Miss W.) I call it the silver, but really it's 
plate. (With a sigh.) In fact I call many things here 
falsely. 1 have to. i Arranging knives and forks.) 1 
have always looked upon Mrs. Teague's boarding house 
as a palace. 

Miss W. — (aghast) Palace! Good heavens! 

A. M. — That's how I happened to call him the prince 
— the Prince of the House of Teague. 

Miss W. — I often wondered. 

A. M. — Of course, Mrs. Teague is the queen. She's 
not much like one, but after all, she has a chief charac- 
teristic. She's tyrannical. 

Miss ly.— Oh, my! 

A. M. — Mr. Clement Hale is chancellor. He looks the 
part, and really he's a very wise man. His wife is the 
beggar maid who won him. 

Miss W. — Why, Anne Marie! 

A. M. — Well, don't you think she's rather high and 
mighty and fusses a great deal about the service here? 
People that have had nothing are always the most dif- 
ficult to suit, you know'. Mr. Pratt is court jester. 



Merely Anne Marie 



Miss W. — (who really admires his looks t Jester! 
Why — he — he is too handsome for that. 

A. M. — I went l:y opposites in his case. < With a, 
sigh.) I had to, to make him interesting at all. 

Miss H^.— Well, of all things! 

A. M. — If you sell white goods all day, you can't be 
interesting. 

Miss W. — No, 1 suppose not. (Whispering.) Still, 
I have often wondered if he had a past. 

4, M. — (thovghtfuUy I Perhaps he has, but I doubt 
it. 

Miss W. — He would be quite perfect if he had a past. 

A. M. — Do you think so? 

Miss W. — (afraid of A. M.'s scorn) Well, of course 
—I—' 

A. M. — Do you know, I think he rather likes you? 

Miss W. — (veil! quicWy ) Oh, my soul! 

A. M. — He does. I can tell by the way he looks at 
you. 

Miss W. — You — you have quite upset me. 

(Enter c. d. Mrs. Teague. She has a letter in her 
hand and is excited.) 

Mrs. T. — I've had a letter! 

Miss W. — Oh, I hope it's not di.stressin;?. 

Mrs. T. — It's a bit upsetting. (In a ivhisper.) A 
noted character wants me to tal.e him to board. 

Miss W. — Oh, my! A noted character! 

Mrs. T.— John Arthur Carrington. He writes plays! 

(A. M. flaps into the nearest chair, quite overcome 
v:ith the excitement of it.) 

Mrs. y.-— There, Anne Marie, go right out and wash 
the lettuce. Go: 

(With a sigh, A. M. gets up and goes off c. d.) 

Mrs. T. — I shouldn't have told her I suppose. She 
won't be good for anything now. I have to be careful 



Merehi Anne Marie 



what I tell her. She has such an imagination! (adjust- 
ing her glasses and lookmg at the letter.) It seems my 
cousin knows the housekeeper at Crestville — a Mrs. Lee. 
(With due reverence.) Crestville is the country house 
of the Dwight Carringtons. 

Miss W. — The Dwight Carringtons! What a grand 
name! 

M7-S. T. — Mary writes that Mrs. Lee says the poor 
fellow is driven nearly crazy by the attentions of his rel- 
atives. They're that proud of him. And he wants to get 
away from them in some quiet spot where he is not to 
be bothered. She writes my house is just the place for 
him and asks nie to let him have a couple rooms in the 
third story. 

Miss W. — Oh, the third story!" 

Mrs. T. — It seems he is now stopping at the Tavern 
— has been there three days, tramping the country on 
snowshoes. 

Miss VT.— Think of that! 

Mrs. T. — He's coming to see me about the rooms 
tonight. Good lord! I'm glad I've had a little warning. 
(Quickly. I Not but what I've always had very nice peo- 
ple here — select people for that matter, but you know — 
he's different. 

Miss W. — Of course! He writes plays! 

(A clock in the liall .^itrikes six. The front door 
slams.) 

Mrs. T. — Good lord! It's six o'clock! 

(She hurries off c. d. as Mr. Pratt enters d. I.) 

Miss W. — (on seeing him) Oh — oh — oh! (in quick 
succession) You'll pardon me, I'm sure. 

Mr. Pratt — Pardon you? 

Miss W. — For being here! 

Mr. P. — (looking straight at herj But you have a 
perfect right to be here. And, besides, I'm glad you are. 

Miss W. — Oh, don't look at me like that — ^please — I 
— I shall die! 



Merely Anne Marie 



Mr. P.— (puzzled) How do I look at you? 

(Enter A. M. c. d. with the bread and butter. Theij 
stand as if transfixed while she places the things on the 
table and goes out.) 

Mr. P.— How do I look at you? 

Miss W.-~( fluttering) I— I don't know. 

Mr. P.— (plunging) Miss Wimple, I am a lonely 
man. I don't like boarding houses. I want a home of 
my own. 

(Enter A. M. with milk and preserves. They stand 
as before until she has gone off.) 

Mr. P. — A house that's neat and cozy and kept in 
order by a little woman, who — Miss Wimple, I am asking 
you to be my wife. Will you? 

Miss W. — I — I — 

Mr. P.— Think of a little home of our own— a little 
home that I could come to at night and find my slippers 
waiting for me before the fire. 

Miss W. — (seeing no romance in this) Oh, no, no, 
no ! It couldn't be. T — 1 would never be happy. 

Mr. P.— Don't tell me that! 

(Enter A. M. with salad and cold meat. They stand 
as before until she goes off.) 

Mr. P. — (trying to take her hand) Don't you care 
for me? Don't you want a little home with me? Is it 
possible you can like this place? 

Miss W. — No — no— I do not like it. I am lonely 
and unhappy, but — 

Mr. P.— But what? 

Miss W. — I like other things. 

Mr. P. — (puzzled) Other things? 

Miss W. — (quoting A. M.) I want more than a 
house to keep in order, more than a husband who is just 
ordinary; more than the simple life. 

Mr. P.— (crushed) I wish I might give them to you. 



IG Merelij Au,ne Marie 

{Enter A. M. with t>:a ani hot water. They stand 
at! before tvhile A. M. places thinps and goes off d. I. tQ 
summon the boaidcrs.) 

Mr. p. — Is there nothing I can say to win you? 

Miss W. — (faintly/ Nothing 

Mr. P. — (with conviction I There is another? 

Miss W. — (more faintly) Yes. 

Mr. P. — Ah, then it is hopeless. You are to marry 
him? 

Miss W. — No — no — I — 

Mr. P.— Who is he*.' 

Miss W. — Oh, oh, oh! How can I explain? 

Mr. P. — I suppose he is a charmer. 

Miss W.— He is a prince! 

(She goes off all a-flutter at d. i. Mr. P. stands there 
puzzled.) 

(Enter d. I. Mr. and Mrs. Clement Hale, followed by 
A. M.) 

(Enter Mrs. T. c. d.) 

Mrs. H. — (taking center chair of the three along 
farther side of the table) My dear Mrs. Teague, salad 
again? Delightful! 

Mr. H. — How can a woman rave over a conglomera- 
tion of stuff set on a green leaf is beyond me. 

Mrs. H. — (didy shocked) My dear! 

(Mr. H. takes the chair at his ivife's left. Mrs. T. 
takes the chair on the right end of table and Mr. P. op^ 
posite her on the left. A. M. stands by serving table.) 

Mrs. T. — It's well we don't all like meat in these 
hard times. Where would I be? (She begins to serve.) 

Mrs. H. — Clement eats far too much meat, (to Mr. 
H.J Meat, my dear, makes one a fighter. 

Mr. H. — (with a uink at A. M.) One needs to be a 
fighter in this world. 

Mrs. T. — (looking toward vacant chair) Where is 



Merely Anne Marie 11 

Miss Wimple? Anne Marie, run up and find out what's 
the matter with her. 

(A. M. goes off d. I.) 

Mrs. T. — I continuing I She was all right a few min- 
utes ago. But there, you never can tell what will take 
her appetite. She's that dainty, and finicky. Good lord! 
I suppose the butter wasn't set even on the plate. 

(Mr. P. keeps his head down.) 

Mrs. H. — I can understand how she feels about such 
things. When one has teen used to a great deal it is 
hard to come down. 

Mr. H. — Not half so haixl as when one has been used 
to nothing. 

Mr. P.--/ biavelij / Was Miss Wimple ever rich? 

Mrs. T. — I with sarcasm) Not rich — but aristocratic. 

Mr. P.— (with reverence) Ah — aristocratic! 

Mrs. T. — And such ideas! 

Mr. if.— Umph ! 

Mrs. T. — She v/ants the best and lord knows how 
she's going to get it on an income of c::e thousand a year. 

Mrs. H. — She should man-y a millionaire. 

Mrs. T. — (scornfuUy ) A millionaire wouldn't suit 
her. He's got to have more than money — that man of 
hers. 

Mr. H. — But what right has she I'd like to know — an 
old wizened spinster I'M). P. gasps) to demand so much? 
What has she to offer? 

Mrs. H.— Hush! 

(Enter A. M. d. I.) 

Mrs. T.~'( turning to A. M.) Well? 

A. M. — Miss Wimple doesn't want any supper. 

(Mr. P. drops his knife ayid fork.) 

Mrs. r.— What's the matter? 

A. M. — She seems much upset — in fact, she's weep- 
ing. 



12 Merely Anne Marie 

Mrs. T. — Does she want anything sent up? 

A. M. — (dramaticalUj ) She says she feels as if she 
never wanted to taste food again ! 

Mrs. T. — There! I suppose she's got the grip and 
I'll have to tend out on her, just when I've a new boarder 
coming. 

(A. M. gocif to serving table as before.) 

Mrs. H. — You've a new boarder coming? 

Mrs. T. — (with importance) Yes — Mr. Carrington. 
He's been staying at the Tavern and he's to come here 
for a month or so. 

(A. M. becomes attentive.) 

Mrs. i/.— Carrington? Carrington? 

Mrs. T. — ( •vith more importance) Yes, of the Car- 
ringtons. 

Mr. P. — (si(ddenlij) Is he married? 

Mrs. T. — He is not married. 

Mr. P. — A millionaire? 

Mrs. H. — Is it possible, my dear Mr. Pratt, you have 
never head of the Carringtons? They were born to mil- 
lions from time immemorial. 

Mr. H. — In heaven's name, what is he doing here? 
After Anne Marie, I'll wager. It's quite the fad among 
the millionaire set to marry out of their class. Ahem! 
It used to be in my day. (Mrs. H. is ill at ease.) 

Mr."^. H. — More meat, Clement? 

Mr. H. — No, my dear, not even meat can stop me 
from saying a thing, if I desire to say it. 

Mr. P. — You say he is to stay only a month? 

Mrs. T. — (touchily) I did. 

Mr. P. — Does he come soon? 

Mrs. T.— Tonight, for all I know. 

Mrs. H. — Tonight? He couldn't get a car out to- 
night. The paths aren't broken. 



Merely Anne Marie 13 

Mrs. T.— Car? He ain't got a car. He's on snow- 
shoes. 

Mrs. H. — Oh ! A bit eccentric ! Well, I suppose one 
can afford to be eccentric when one has millions. 

Mr. H. — Bah! What is there eccentric about going 
out on a pair of snowshoes when one can't go with com- 
fort any other way. I call it downright common sense. 

(A. M. removes plates while Mrs. T. helps to the pre- 
serves.) 

Mrs. T. — (thoKfihtfidlif/ I shouldn't wonder but 
what he is a bit eccentric, as you say, and so I'll take an 
opportunity right here to ask you, all of you, not to feel 
offended if you think he don't treat you quite as you 
think he should. 

Mrs. H. — Um — snobbish, I suppose. Well, there are 
others that have a right to be snobbish, too. 

Mrs. T. — No, he ain't snobbish. That ain't the word 
at all. (in a reverential whisper.) He writes plays! 

Mr. H.— Ah! 

Mrs. H. — He writes plays? 

Mrs. T. — He writes plays! 

Mrs. H. — How divine! 

Mr. H. — That depends. Some of the modern plays 
are anything but divine. 

Mrs. H. — What kind of plays does he write? 

Mrs. T. — (not in the least knowim/ what she is say- 
ing ) They say — high comedy! 

Mr. H. — (with a chuckle) High Jinks. 

Mrs. T. — (still quoting) He is the author of two 
plays that ran on Broadway two seasons. He's made a 
million. 

Mrs. H.— itremulo) Think of that. Isn't that won- 
derful? Gifted, unmarried, and worth a million. 

(Mr. P. stares sadly into space.) 

Mr. H. — I don't know how it is to be gifted or to be 
worth a million, but I have memories of how it is to be 



14 Merely Anne Marie 

unmarried and I dub him lucky, just for that. 

Mrs. H. — Clement, dear! (to others) He doesn't 
mean half he says. 

Mr. H. — Don't I? Any man that's single and gets 
married, takes an awful chance. 

Mrs. H. — Clement- — dear! Please! 

Mr. H. — Don't get excited, my dear. I'm not being 
personal. I'm just talking in a general way. Take Mr. 
Pratt, here. If he isn't the living example of the happi- 
ness of an unmarried man I'd like to see you find a bet- 
ter proof . (Mr. P. bt'cornes ill at ease.) He's wise, too. 
He's no notion of changing his lot in Life. He's a bach- 
elor and he intends to remain so. 

Mr. P.— insing } I — I beg to be excused. I — I have 
a letter to get off on this mail. (He bolts off d. I. The 
others stare after him.i 

Mrs. H. — There, Clement, you've frightened him to 
death. 

A. M. — isuddenljii 1 should think Mr. Hale might 
frighten him. He proposed to Miss Wimple tonight. 

Mrs. r.— What? 

A. M. — Yes— he did. 

Mrs. H. — Heavens! VVhat does he see in her? 

Mrs. T.— (to A. M.f Did she refuse him? 

A. M.— \ think not — exactly. She — she ran out of 
the room. 

Mrs. T. — Of course she'll take him and there'll be 
another room vacant. 

A. M. — I don't think so. I don't believe she'll have 
him. 

Mr. H. — Ha, ha, ha! Don't you fool yourself, my 
dear. She's not so young as you. 

A. M. — (seriously ) But she loves another. 

Mrs. T.— (aghast) What!! 

A. M. — (seriously) She loves an ideal. 



Merely Anne Marie. 15 



Mrs. H. — Then she's sure to remain single. 

Mrs. T. — He's rather handsome. 

A. M. — But he has no brains. 

Mrs. T. — Anne Mar^e! Gccd loid! The young peo- 
ple of today. They're so fussy about a man. He's got to 
be this and that and a hundred other things before he's 
even considered. In my day a girl took her beau for 
granted and married him and there was nothing more to 
it Such notions ! 

Mr. H. They look too much for granted in those 

days. 

Mrs. T. — I'm sure I never picked poor Teague so to 
pieces. I took him for what he was and made the best of 
it. Miss Wimple can do the same. 

A. M. — The trouble is Mr. Pratt has so few possi- 
bilities. He's too contented. 

Mrs. r.— Good heavens! Contentment was the gift 
of heaven in my day. 

A. M.— And he's very ordinary. 

Mrs. T.— There now, hear the child will you? The 
angel Gabriel wouldn't suit her. 

\_ M. — (seriovsliii No, I don't believe he would. 
He's too naive. 

Mr. H. — Ha, ha. ha! I'll wager Mephistopheles in 
a dress suit would. 

Mrs. H.-^There, there, Clement, you've gone far 
enough. 

Mis. 7. — V/h^.ie the child geU her ideas from is 
more than I can see. Her parents were ordinary enough, 
but ever since the day I took her into my house she's 
showed signs of being different. Used to sit on the attic 
stairs and talk to her other self. 

Mr. H. — Wanted to be sure of talking to a lady, did- 
n't you, Anne Marie? 

Mrs. T. — All 1 can say is, Miss Wimple might do a 
lot worse. Anne Marie, get me some hot water. 



16 Meirln Anne Marie 

(A M. goes off c. d.) 

Mrs. T. — The child has a strange influence over Miss 
Wimple. I believe — yes, I believe she could do anything 
with her. 

Mrs. H. — I always thought Anne Marie was un- 
canny. 

Mr. H. — That's nothing to what she thinks of you, 
I'll wager, i Chuckles.) 

Mrs. T. — I suppose she's put some foolish idea into 
Miss Wimple's head about a perfect man. Well, she can 
take it from me — there ain't no such animal. But Miss 
Wimple's just foolish enough to believe her. 

(Enter A. M.) 

Mrs. T. — (taking the hot water A. M. offers her) 
Thank you. Now, sit down, child, and eat your supper. 
I've a lot to do fixing those two rooms for Mr. Carrington 
lind you'll have to do the dishes alone, tonight. 

Mrs. H. — (rising) Oh, then he's to have both rooms. 

Mrs. T. — oising) Yes, he specifies a bedroom and 
study. 

(A. M. slips into Mrs. T.'s place and begins her sup- 
per.) 

Mrs. H. — That leaves no extra room. I thought if 
my niece should come — 

Mrs. T. — (quickly) Well, I'll give her Anne Marie's 
room and Anne Marie can sleep on the cot in mine. 

Mrs. H. — There! I'm relieved, because the child 
may take it into her head to come any time. She's ac- 
customed to acting just as she feels. 

Mr. H. — (rising) She'll learn better bye and bye. 
(coming to A. M.) Have I left enough for you, Anne 
Marie? 

(Mrs. H. and Mrs. T. talk.) 
A. M. — Oh, plenty, thank you. 

Mr. H. — You've got the appetite of a sparrow and 
you're poor as a crow. 



Merely A7i7ie Mnrie 17 



A. M. — It's stylish to be thin. All the gowns are cut 
for slender figures. 

Mr. H. — Ha, ha! What do you know about styles 
away down here in this country place? By Jove you are 
uncanny. Wait until Mrs. Clement Hale's niece arrives; 
then you'll learn a thing or two about style. 

A. M. — (fearfully) Is she beautiful? 

Mr. H. — Considered so; but between you and me, 
I'd rather your face and figure a hundred times. Ah, ha! 
that doesn't please you does it, coming from an old duf- 
fer like me, but I've seen a few girls in my time, my dear, 
and I know a thoroughbred when I see her and I call you 
one. You've got the look my dear. 

Mrs. H. — Come, Clement, it's time for cribbage. 

Mr. H. — Yes — yes. (She takes his arm and they go 
off d. I.) 

Mrs. T. — I'm going up to the third story to make 
ready a few things. If anyone comes you can call me. 

(Mrs. T. starts toivard door left.) 

A. M. — Mrs. Teague? 

Mrs. T. — (turning) Yes. 

A. M. — Did you evei know a playwright? 

Mrs. T. — No, but my sister met one once. Why? 

A. M. — Nothing. 

(Mrs. T. goes off d. I. Anne Marie sits a moment, 
toying with her fork. Presently the kitchen door is 
heard to slam. Anne Marie starts up from her chair, 
facing center door.) 

(Enter Carrington center door. He wears sport 
clothes and has a pair of snowshoes slung over his back.) 

(They stare at eat-h other a moment without a ivord 
or movement.) 

Carrington — Pardon me for walking in. I didn't 
attempt it until I'd proved your bell was out of order. 
A. M.— Oh! 



Merely A)ine Marip 



Car. — This is Mrs. Teague's veiy desirable board- 
ing house, isn't it? 

A. M.— Yes. 

Car. — I believe I'm to have a room here. 

A. M.' — Two rooms, i Wondering whence her voice 
comes.) 

Car. — Ah! Tiro I'ooms! 

A. M. — A bedroom and a study. 

Car. — Where is the lady of the house? May I see 
her? 

A. M. — Certainly. She's upstairs. I'll call her. Will 
.vou go in the parlor? 

Car — Must I? I don't like parlors. 

.4. M. — I — I think she would rather have you. 

Car. — Just as you wish. 

(She goes to d. I. He follows.) 

(Enter Mrs. T. ,d. l-> 

(She "takes him in" profcssioncdhj.) 

Mrs. T. — (with satisfaction) Ah! 

Car. — Mrs. Teague? 

Mrs. T. — (in her best manner) Yes, and I'm sure 
this is Mr. Carrington. I'm delighted. Do come into the 
parlor. (She goes off. He follows.) Everything's ready 
for you. I've done all — 

( Aytne Marie comes back to table and stands smiling 
to herself for a moment.) 

A. M.— The Prince. It is the Prince! (She takes 
teapot and hot water and goes off' c. d., as curtain falls.) 



CURTAIN 



Merely Anne Marie 19 



ACT II. 

Time — Two mornings later. 

Scerie — Mr. Carrington's sitting room. In the rear 
wall, center, a door leading into the corridor. In the right 
wall, center, a door hung with a curtain, leading into the 
bedroom. In the left wall, two windows overlooking the 
road. To the right of the rear door a whatnot littered 
with bricabrac. Down stage left, a comfortable .but 
somewhat shabby davenport set conierwise. Betivesn 
the windows, a table desk with typewriter, papers, books, 
etc. Down stage right a comfortable old chair in sad 
contrast with the other highly polished stiff hacked 
chairs set along the walls. 

Discovered, Mr. Cairingtoyi. He has just closed the 
center door behind Mrs. T., who has been making a little 
friendly call. He comes down stage with an air of relief, 
lights his pipe and pnlh forward the one comfortable 
chair, p^reparatory to a quiet, meditative smoke, but it is 
not so to be, for when he moves the chair, Anne Marie' 
in a miserable heap is revealed to him. 

Car. — Good heavens! 

A. M. — Oh! (She sta^ids up.) 

Car. — istonly) Do you think that's a nice thing to 
do? 

A. M.— No— I think it's detestable. 

Car. — So you do detestable things deliberately? 

A. M. — (never sure of herself) I must. 

Car. — You were here all the while I was talking to 
Mrs. Teague? 

A, M.— Yes. 

Car. — You came to spy? 

A. M.— (coming down stage) I came because I like 
the sound of your voice. 

Car. — (following her) Who are you? 



20 Merely Anne Marie 

A. M. — I am Anne Marie Perkins, a sort of adopted 
daughter of Mrs. Teague. 

( Suddenly she faces him and laughs.) 

Car.— (in\easily) What are you laughing at? 

.4. M. — The high and mighty manner of you. I think 
I might say who are yoit? 

Car. — (stiffly I You evidently know if you have been 
listening. 

A. M. — Oh, I knew before you came. I know every- 
thing about you. 

Car.— Indeed? 

A. M. — The only excitement I have is the new 
boarders. 

Car. — I'm sorry to disappoint you, because I'm not 
the least exciting. 

A. M. — You write plays! 

Car. — Ah, I see ! You thought I was to have a the- 
ater strapped to my back. Well, I'm deucedly sorry to 
disappoint you. If I had known of this — er — keen inter- 
est of yours, I would have stayed at home rather than 
disappoint you. 

.4. M. — Now, you're being sarcastic. Well, I sup- 
pose I ought to feel flattered to think you'd use sarcasm 
on me. To think you wouldn't feel it was wasted. 

Car. — 1 didn't think of you one way or another. 

4_ M. — No, I suppose not. (Looks about the room.) 
How do you like your sitting room? 

Car. — So-so. 

A. M. — I had one awful tussle with Mrs. Teague to 
get this davenport here; and that chair (indicating the 
comfortable one) but I persisted. I knew you'd like them. 
You do, don't you? 

Car. — Very much. 

A. M. — < smoothing the upholstery t The davenport's 
rather shabby, but it's substantial and forty times more 
comfortable than the purlor settee she had for you. 



Merely Anne Marie 21 

Car. — I don't doubt it. 

A. M. — Mrs. Teague isn't a bit artistic. 

Car. — Um-um. 

A. M. — She likes parlor sets and easels if you'll be- 
lieve it. 

Car. — I do. (Sits on the arm of the chair.) 

A. M. — She wanted to put an easel in here and a 
picture on it of Mr. Teague. 

Co/-.— The Saints forbid. 

A. M.—\ removed a lot of the superfluous bricabrac 
too. 

Car. — 1 see I'm frightfully indebted to you. 

A. M. — (leaning on the back of the davenport) Well, 
it's this way. You can't work so vvell in an uncongenial 
atmosphere — that is, unless you are a genius. 

Car. — You don't consider me a genius, then? 

A. M. — No — not exactly. That is, I couldn't imag- 
ine you writing in a cold garret, hungry, and with the 
light of one solitary candle. The divine fire doesn't burn 
ii; you to the oblivion o^ physical discomfort. 

Car. — /raising //is- brows in genuine surprise) 
Really? 

A. M. — I surprise you? (with a sigh) Well, I sur- 
prise myself. Mrs. Teague thinks I'm queer. In fact, 
I imagine they all think so. 

Car. — Oh, no. 

A. M.— Thank you for that emphatic denial. 

Car. — I made it emphatic on purpose. 1 know what 
you're up against. 

.4. M. — (going lo him) You — ^you know? They 
have called you queer? 

Car. — Many times. 

(She regards him earnestly.) 

A. M. — Oh — I — I can bear it better, now. 

Car. — (bending toward her) But we know they're 
the queer ones, don't we? (They laugh.) 



22 Merely Anne Marie 

A. M. — Oh, you are so wonderful! I — I feel so at 
home with you. At last I have found a kindred spirit. 

Car. — Then there are no kindred spirits at Mrs. 
Teague's. 

A. M. — I'm afraid not, although they all think they 
are. Miss Wimple adores romance and likes a good story 
but she has no sense of humor. 

Car.— That's bad. 

A. M. — Very. Neither has Mrs! Teague nor Mr. 
Pratt. Mrs. Clement Hale is a type and Mr. Clemerjt 
Hale is a lot nicer and more interesting than he'll let 
people know. 

Car. — I wonder just how you'd ;;atalogue rae. 

A. M. — Oh, I don't think you'd object to the way at 
all. 

Car.— No? 

A. M. — I wouldn't catalogue you as a saint. No 
writer has much use for a saint. You see there would 
be no plots in the world if we were all saints, and the 
writer would lose his jcb. (Smiles.) I should class you 
as a man who knew the worst of things— because the 
truth is often the worst — and yet could smile and have 
faith, i Archly.) That — that is my idea of a man! 

Car. — And you have been waiting for him? 

A. M.— All my life. 

Car. — But that's not long. 

A. M. — You are laughing at me. Please don't. When 
I was a child he was my father. When I grew up he 
took the form of a cavalier. He rode a black horse with 
silver trappings. How grand he was! Then he became 
just a man — a man with a twinkle in his eye, a man who 
was sure of himself always. (Bowing in a grand manner) 
I am happy to meet you monsieur! 

Car. — Ah, you misjudge me! Perhaps I have a 
twinkle in my eye, but I'm wickedly morose at times, and 
alas! I am never sure of myself. 



Merely Anne Marie 23 

A. M. — You are never sure of your beliefs, you 
mean. That is quite different. And it's so much better 
not to be too sure of things. Everyone here is so sure 
of evei'ything that it gets to be rather a bore. Mrs. 
Teague is quite sure she knows evcrythng there is to 
knew about running a boarding house and I'm quite sure 
she doesn't. Mr. Pratt is sure he knows all there is to 
know about white goods and I am quite sure he doesn't 
deal in half the vhi^e gocds made. Mrs. Clement Hale 
is sure sl.e is a perfect lacy, and I am sur^ she isn't. And 
Mr. Clement Hale is absolutely sure that everyone is a. 
fool, and I'm not so sure of that either. So that's th? 
way it goss. 

Car. — So you think there is hope for me? 

A. M. — Yes, if you don't let them influence .vou. Mrs. 
Clement Hale has rather a dominatin]^ personality, es- 
pecially when her husband isn't around to offset her. 
She crushes but if you feel her malevolent influence 
stealing over you — 

Car. — (uxdkiny up stage) Ah, you make me shud- 
der! Perhaps I had better have my meals in my room. 

A. M. — No, that isn't necessary. The only thing is, 
she might take to coming here. She's likely to. 

Car. — Good heavens! But I shall have it under- 
stood I am to receive no callers. I have come here to 
write. 

A. M. — Ah, you have to have things more than un- 
derstood at Mr-;. Teague's — that is if you want to be 
obeyed. 

Car. — I don't believe they will bother ms. 

A. M. — I have my doubts, i Lnnghin:!.) Here I am, 
bothering you myself. 

Car. — No — no you aren't, really. Don't go. 

A. M.- — (surprised) You want me to stay? i 

Car. — I do. (He comes down stage to chair.) 

A. M. — (sitting on davenport ) It's the first time 



24 Merely Anne Marie 

anyone ever invited me to stay longer. You're not ask- 
ing me just to be polite? 

Car. — Never. 

A. M. — Oh, I'm so glad. 1 hoped we could be friends, 
but then, after that first bad impression, I was afraid 
you would never consider me. I had planned quite an- 
other meeting (with regret) I had even learned my lines. 

Car. — That's too bad. It's a wicked shame to spoil 
a perfectly good scene, but then you must admit it was 
your own fault. 

A. M. — Yes. You see I was spying to get an idea 
what sort of a man you were before I thought out your 
lines. Am I forgiven? 

Car. — You are. I forgave you way back in your 
tenth speech after your discovery. 

A. M. — Thank you. I don't know what the speech 
was, but I feel it must have got over. 

Car. — It did. Wasn't the response .evident? 

A. M. — Evident, but just a little late. (They laugh.) 

(Mrs. T.'s voice without.) 

Mrs. T. — A-nne Marie-e-e-e-e ! 

A. M. — (going to c. d.) I'm sorry, but I must go, 
(Ovens door.) Yes, Mrs. Teague, I'm coming. (To Mr. 
Car.) If they bother you — the others — I will fix them. 

Car. — A thousand thanks. (A. M. goes off c. d.) 

(Car. comes doivn stage to his desk, takes his papers 
preparatory to work, hnmming all the ivhile. There is a 
knock at the door.) 

Car. — Come in. 

(Enter Miss Wimple, bearing gifts — a genteel plate 
of pink peppermints.) 

Miss W. — (stopping short on threshold) Oh, I've in- 
terrupted an inspiration. 

Car. — (coming toward her) No, Mot at all. 
Miss W. — (coyly) Really? 



Merel y Anne Marie 25 

Car.— Truly. 

Miss W. — (offering the peppermints i Just a slight 
token of my friendship and good will. 

Car. — (taking the peppermints and placing them on 
desk) .Thank you. Will you sit down. (He pushes for- 
ward a chair and she sits on the edge of it.) 

Miss W. — My room is next to yours. I do think it 
is nice to be neighborly. People that aren't neighborly 
are such bears. 

Car. — (not meaning it) Aren't they? 

Miss W. — I hope you like peppermints. 

Car. — (tvith enthusiasm) I do — im — mensely. 

Miss W. — I keep them in my room all the time. I 
like to have a nibble now and then. 

Car.— ;- Yes, and I imagine the mice do, too. 

Miss W. — Oh, mercy, there isn't a mouse in the 
house. 

Car. — That's nice. Then I sha'n't have to be in a 
hurry about eating mine up. (He sits at his desk chair.) 

Miss W. — (tvith a melodramatic sigh) So this is 
where you write ! How wonderfully romantic ! To think 
that I, Lura Wimple, should have the opportunity of 
knowing such a man. Mr. Carrington, to me you are 
romance! Romance, the thing I have hungered for all 
my life. 

Car. — (beginning to be alarmed) My dear lady, I 
romance ? 

Miss W. — If you only knew how I have desired it — 
yes, yes, how I have suffered from the very drabness of 
my life. 

Car. — (laith deepest sympathy) My dear lady! 

Miss W. — I loathe the ordinary, the commonplace. 

Car. — Indeed. 

Miss W. — (rising, overcome with embarrassment) 
But what am I saying? I believe I am talking to you as 
I never talked to another in all my life, (clasping her 
hands) You — you are a kindred spirit. 



26 Merely A.nne Marie 

(Knock at c. d.) 

Miss W. — Who is that? (She is flustered and flut- 
ters about like a caged bird.) 

Car. — (going to door) Probably another kindred 
spirit. The place is full of them. 

Miss W. — (runs after him and catches his coaU 
sleeve) You will never tell a thing I have confessed? 

Car. — (dramatically i Trust me. 

(She comes back to her chair and sits as he opens 
c. d.) 

(Enter Mr. Pratt. On seeing Miss W. he stops short 
on the threshold.) 

Miss W. — (rising nervously) Oh! (They stare at 
each other a moment and Car. looks from one to the other 
in amazement. ) 

Car. — (feeling rhe frigidity of the atmosphere)- 
Not kindred spirits I see. 

Mr. P.— I— I— I— 

Miss W. — I will go. 

(She sweeps post them, her head up and goes off 
c. d.) 

Mr. P. — (very humbly i I hope, sir, you will pardon 
her strange departure, for I'm sure you think it strange, 
but last night Miss Wimple rejected me as a husband and 
this is the first time since that she has seen me. It is 
for that very reason ihat I have stayed from my work to 
come to you — to ask vou, sir, what I can do about it. 

Car. — (leading Mr. P. down stage ) Ah, don't feel 
so badly about it old man. I shouldn't. 

Mr. P. — But you — you are not in love with her. 

Car. — Ah, no; and I can't imagine anyone else be- 
ing. ( Walks up stage. > 

Mr. P. — Of course not ; but I am — desperately in 
love with her. 

Car. — Is it possible? 



Merely Anne Marie 27 

Mr. P. — If I knew — if I only knew what I could do 
to win her. I suppose you think it strange that I should 
come to you, but I felt the first glimpse I had of you, 
that you would understand — that you were a kindred 
spirit. 

Car.— ((iroans) My good man, I have known Miss 
Wimple for at out one half hour and the thing she most 
v/orships, as far as I can make out, is romance. 

Mr. p. — (flopping in a cha'r i Romance! 

Car. — (ivith great importance) In fact she con- 
fessed to me — in strict confidence, remember — that to 
her / was romance. 

Mr. P. — ( bitterly I Romance! 

Car. — Now, why I am romance to her is more than I 
can tcH — ;:nlcES it is t! e fact ihat I came out of th2 no- 
where on a pair of snowshoes. 

Mr. P. — (more bitterly) You write plays! 

Car.— (ivith a groan I Ah, yes, I write plays and be- 
lieve me, I am beginning to regret it. 

Mr. P. — (mournfully) I am a clerk. 

Car. — (ivith finality) You are a clerk. 

Mr. P. — But I am happy at my work. Ah, that is 
the sad part of it. I like my work. I shall never aspire 
to greater things. If i-he cannot take me as I am, I can 
never hope — never! 

(A knock on c. d.) 

Car. — Come in. (Enter A. M.) 

A. M. — (ivith a twinkle) Y'ou are wanted at the 
telephone, Mr. Carrington. The telephone's in the lower 
back hall. 

Car. — Thanks. (Exit c. d.) 

A. M. — (closing the door and coming to Mr. P.) You 
m.ustn't bother him •A'ith your troubles. He's a terribly- 
busy man. 

Mr. P. — I had to. I was driven to despair. She has 
refused m.e. 



28 Merely Anne Marie 

A. M. — I knew she would. You are too drab. 

Mr. P. — You think there is no hope? 

A. M. — I won't say that, but you must change your 
ways. You must have a dash of the cavalier about you. 
You can do it. Already you have th? likeness to one. 

Mr. P. — i astounded) I — I have the likeness to a 
cavalier? 

A. M. — Clip your mustache. Wear your hair pom- 
padour style and much shorter, and when you get a new 
suit, have it tailor made. 

(He regards her with great respect.) 

A. M. — Forsake that heavy watch chain. They are- 
n't worn now, and get a thin one. 

Mr. P. — Yes — yes — I — I will do all you say. 

A. M. — Then you must have a hobby. 

Mr. P. — A hobby? 

.4. M. — Some interest besides your business, and you 
must never talk shop. 

Mr. P. — She likes playwrights. 

A. M. — I have it. Flay-writing shall be your hobby. 

Mr. P. — But the plays — 

A. M. — 1 will write the plays. 

Mr. P. — Oh, you are too kind! 

A. M. — I am doing this because I think Miss Wim- 
ple is fond of you, in spite of what she says; and then 
(with a shoit laugh) I feel responsible in a way for what 
she has done. 

Mr. P. — You? 

A. M. — Mr. Pratt, I used to laugh at you because 
— because you sold white goods and I want to do every- 
thing in my power to make up for it. Miss Wimple 
thinks she must have romance. We will give her some. 

Mr. P. — But you are sure all this advice you have 
given will make me a romantic figure in her eyes? 

A. M. — This and what I will invent of your past. 



Merely Anne Marie 29 

Mr. P. — (alarmed) My past? 

A. M. — Um-um, your past will have great weight 
with her. 

Mr. P. — But I have no past. 

A. M. — Ah, I know. That is why 1 must invent one. 

Mr. P. — She — she will understand? (anxiously) 

A. M. — Trust me. I know Miss Wimple. And I 
know what appeals to her. (Takes his arm.) Now, go, 
and I will talk with her here. (She leads him to c. d.) 

Mr. P. — A thousand thanks and permit me to say — 
(tvhispering) I'll bet on your play every time to his. 
You've twice the imagination! 

(A. M. laughs and pushes him out gently, closes the 
door and goes over to the left wall and pounds on it vig- 
orously.) 

A. M. — Miss Wimple! Miss Wimple! 

(A moment later the c. d. opens cautiously and Mis9 
Wimple steps into the room.) 

Miss W. — (on seeing A. M.) You! 

.4. M. — (going to her) Of course. You didn't 
think it was he, did you? 

Miss W. — I am prepared to think anything. I hang 
— as it were — in midair, always! 

.4. M. — What do you think of him? 

Miss W. — The prince? 

A. M. — The prince. 

Miss PF.— What do you? 

A. M.- — I'm asking you. 

Miss W. — Well, to be perfectly truthful, I'm a bit 
disappointed. 

A. M. — It isn't to be wondered at. 

Miss W. — {with relief) Ah! He's — he's ordinary, 
isn't he? 

A. M.— Terribly. 



30 Merely Anne Marie 

Miss W. — You think as 1 do. 

A. M. — Not exactly — to be perfectly truthful. You 
know I'm not so romantic as you are. I didn't expect so 
much. 

Miss W. — I shocked) He looks like a business man. 

j^ M. — He does. It's a fact, and that very fact 
would kill you. 

Miss W. — (sitting on davenport) Ah, yes — it's cruel 
to be disappointed. 

A. M. — It is. (She comes over and leans on the back 
of the davenport.) ( Philosophically. i But oftentimes a 
disappointment is succeeded by good news. In fact, it's 
so with this case. 

Miss W. — I turning) What do you mean? 

A. M. — As far -as you are concerned, we have a 
prince already in this house. 

Miss W. — No! 

A. M. — (nodding) Mr. Pratt. 

Miss W. — (fluttering I Oh! 

A. M. — I've made wonderful discoveries about him 
(leaning forward) interesting— intensely interesting 
discoveries. HIS PAST! 

Miss W'.— W-what!! 

^, M. — Frightfully romantic and full of color. He 
is the son of an English artist and a wealthy French 
beauty. 

Miss W. — (sinking back) Oh! 

A, M. — ( visualizing ) Half of his life has been spent 
in the studios of Greenwich Village and half of it in the 
gorgeous salons of the French aristocracy. He became 
so sick of it all that he renounced riches on the one hand 
and art on the other and became out of sheer ennui — a 
drygoods clerk! 

Miss W. — Poor, dear man! Think of that! 
A. M. — (tense) But he has the artistic tempera- 
ment. He cannot fight it. It gives vent in PLAYS ! 



MereUj Anne Marie 31 

Miss W. — (gasping I Plays! 

A. M. — Long after you and I and ail the household 
are in bed, he writes ! I have read them. 

Miss W. — (rising) Oh-oh, how little one can tell! 
Here I have been seeking romance all my life and it is 
at my door. But then, I always said — yes, I always said, 
you cannot deny it, thai I always said he looked a part! 
(She paces back and forth.) Oh, you have upset me ter- 
riblj^ — terribly! I will go to my room and meditate. 

A. M. — (catching her arm) Yes, that is the wisest 
thing, Miss Wimple. (She leads her to the door center, 
and Miss W. goes off. A. M. comes down to the desk, 
and gazes at the typewriter with awe, made up mostly of 
admiration.. > 

(Enter Car. c. d.) 

Car. — Hulloal How do you like it? 

A. M. — It's wonderful. 

Car. — Some day I shall have you for my secretary, 
(Looks abGut.) Is he gone? 

A. M. — Yes, and I don't think he'll bother you with 
his troubles again. 

Car. — Thanks to you. 

A. M. — Now I'm going. (She goes toward door.) 

Car. — You needn't go. 

A. M. — Aren't you going to work? 

Car. — Um-um, some time Would you like to take a 
hike with me? I've an extra pair of snowshoes. 

A. M.—Oh, I'd love to. 

Car. — Very well, and you can tell me all about your- 
self. I've an idea you have a lot to tell. 

.4. M. — Not much about myself. Nothing much has 
ever happened to me, but I'll tell you of my aspirations. 

(Mrs. T.'s voice without.) 
Mrs. T. — Anne Ma-r-r-r-i-e-e-e ! 
A. M.—Mrs. Teague! 



32 Merely Anne Marie 

Car. — Hide. Quick! .(He pushes the big chair up 
close to the whatnot and A. M. crouches behind it.) 

(Knock on c. d.) 

Car. — (casualhj lighting his pipe) Come in. 

(Enter Mrs. T.j 

Mrs. T. — rin sorry to bother you. I thought may- 
be Anne Marie was here. 

Car. — Anne Marie? No. 

Mrs. T. — (confidentially ) You see, I can't trust her 
very well. She lies. And sometimes, when I call her 
she doesn't answer, and I know she hears me. 

Car. — That's a pity. 

Mr.'i. T. — It is, when I've been so good to her. But 
the young folks now-a-days do just as they please. I 
suppose she's got some book and deep into it and doesn't 
know I exist. Or else she's play-acting. One day I hunted 
high and low for her and good lord, if she wasn't in the 
garret thinking she was Mary Queen of Scots. She's a 
strange child as ever lived and about the worst one I 
could have picked for my place. Oh, well — (turns to go) 
Still, I will say this. There's no doubt to my mind she'd 
make an elegant freak character in a play. (With a bob 
she is gone, closing the door after her. i 

A. M.— (e7nergi)ig with a laugh) Now, you know 
what she thinks of me and all in one speech, too. There 
aren't many playwrights could do better. 

(Car. goes to desk end ptdls out two pairs of snoio- 
shoes.) 

Car. — How will you get out? 

A. M. — Oh, easily. She's gone to her room in the 
back, and we can go out the front door. 

Car. — Can you get your things? 

A. M. — Yes, they're in the lower hall. 

(A knock at c. d.) 

A. M. — Give me the snowshoes. It's callers. (She 
snatches them from him.) 



Merely Anne Marie 33 



Car. — But you mustn't go out now, with them. 
A. M. — I'm not. I'll hide behind the chair and steal 
out if they stay, then come back and call you. 

(He regards her with admiration. There is another 
■ knock on c. d. ) 

A. M.— Quick! Answer! But don't let them take 
this chair, (She crouches behind it, snowshoes and alL 
He places typewriter in it and goes to the door.) 

(Enter Clement Hale and Mrs. Clement Hale.) 

Mrs. H. — (in a most affected manner.) How do you 
do? I am Mrs. Clement Hale, and this (indicating) is, 
my husband. 

Car. — How do you do? How do you do, sir? 

Mrs. H. — (coming doivn stage) Just a tiny visit to 
let you know we are neighborly people. 

Car. — Mighty nice of you to come. (Pidls forivard 
two straight-back chairs.) Won't you be seated? 

Mr. H. — Quite a room you have here, if it is on the 
top floor. I like it. 

Car.^1 prefer the top floor. 

Mrs. H. — (sitting I Of course he does. He's got to 
have peace and quiet. 

Mr. H.— (sitting; Um, has he? 1 didn't know you 
realized that. 

fCar. pulls up a chair and sits beside them.) 

Mr. H. — (pointing to each 07ie) Three little crows 
sat on a tree. 

Mrs. H.— Clement! (To Car.) My husband is aw- 
fully facetious. 

Mr. H. — Painfully so. 

Mrs. H.— No\w tell us are you writing a play? 

Mr. H. — Writing a play? Of course he is. I told 
you he was, before we came. And we, by our insipid lit- 
tle visit, are keeping the world from a masterpiece. 

Mrs. H.~Oh. that would be selfish. 



S4 Merely Avne Marie 



Mr. H. — Yet, she makes no motion to go. Strange. 

Mrs. H. — Do tell us a little about it. 

Car. — About it? 

Mrs. H. — About your play-writing, I've always 
longed to know somebody famous. 

Mr. H. — That is what I ha^'e had to ))ut up with, 
Mr. Carrington, ever since I married her. She has al- 
ways longed to know somebody famous. 

Car. — -Rather tough on you, sir. 

Mr. H. — I used to tell her Anne rilarie would be 
famous some day, but she wasn't satisfied with that. Now 
you've come, she'll pester your life out. 

Mrs. H. — Famous people must expect to be both- 
ered. I read of one once who use'l to have swarms of 
hero worshippers come to catch the grasshoppers on his 
lawn. 

Mr. H. — Kind of hard on the old fellow's gardens. 
"Wonder how he got rid of the bugs. 

(An7ie Marie irorhs her icarj out, cautiously and un- 
seen.) 

Mrs. H. — He afterward fell in love v/ith my. niece. 

Mr. H. — lu despair) Your niece. 

Mrs. H. — There, Mr. Carrington, I do want you to 
meet my niece. You'd be charmed with her — every man 
is. 

Car. — I'm afraid my work would suffer sadly. 

Mrs. H. — Work? lou'd never think of work if Be- 
linda came. (Touches him on the arm.) She may come, 
any day. In fact, I'm expecting her. Of course, I don't 
see her very often. She's so very popular, but some- 
times, when she gets tired of societv she comes to her 
aunt, who hasn't any money, consequently no society du- 
ties. 

Car. — Is she pretty? (Hale chuckles.) 

Mrs. H. — Pretty? My dear man, she's wonderful. 
Seventeen artists have asked to paint her portrait. Won- 



Merely Ayine Marie 35 

derful coloring, you know — real Titian hues in her hair. 
)Hah chuckles again.) And she would just adore you, 
wouldn't she, Clement? 

Mr. H. — She might for a time. But Belinda's ador- 
ation is of short duration. 

Mrs. H. — She has known all typas of men — profes- 
sional and business, but I don't think she ever met a 
playwright before. Do you recall that she has, Clement 
dear? 

Mr. H. — I imagine she has if there was ever one 
within a radius of one hundred miles. 

Mrs. H. — Well, I'm sure she hasn't. 1 remember 
she had a tremendous flirtation with an actor once — a 
big actor, too. Then this writer I was speaking of a 
while ago. He was a kind of poet, I believe. 

Mr. H. — Very different, my dear, a poet and a play- 
wright. 

Mrs. H. — Really, she has been quite a heart-breaker. 

Mr. H. — Has Belinda! Tell Mr. Carrington her age 
Lucy, or he will think she is as old as Circe. 

Mrs. H. — Well, I won't tell her age exactly, but I 
will say she had her first affair at twelve years. 

(Car. looks toivard chair for A. M.) 

Car. — Heavens ! 

Mr. H. — Mrs. Hale makes Belinda out quite terrible, 
does she not? But really, Belinda's not terrible, at all. 

Car. — Of course she isn't, I'm sure if she's your 
niece, she can't be anything but nice. (Car. looks to- 
irard chair, nervously.) 

Mrs. H. — There! Every man says things like that 
to me, except my husband, 

Mr. H. — They don't know you, my dear. 

Mrs. H. — But to go back to my niece — (again Car. 
looks toivard chair.) 

Mr. H. — (who ha'i noticed him) My dear Lucy, 
don't. Can't you see you've worked the poor fellow into a 
nervous fever already. 



36 Merely Anne Marie 

Mrs. H. — But that's what 1 want to do, because I 
know no expectation could exceed Belinda! 

(Knock at c. d.) 

Car. — Come in. 

(Enter A. M. Car. looks relieved.) 

A. M. — (to Car.) You are wanted at the telephone, 
Mr. Carrington. 

Car. — (rising) Pardon me. 

A. M. — You'd better put on your cap and coat. The 
scrub woman has all the windows in the lower hall wide, 
open. 

Car. — (yetting his hat and coat from bedroom) Do 
I need my gloves? 

A. M. — Yes, if you don't have them your hands are 
likely to freeze to the receiver. 

(A. M. goes out c. d. Car. comes from- the bedroom, 
coat and cap and gloves in his arms.) 

Car. — You'll excuse my leaving you. I've been ex- 
pecting this call. Make yourself at home. (Exit c. d.) 

Mr. H. — Certainly. Certainly. Be careful your lips 
don't freeze to the transmitter. 

Mrs. H. — (ivith the greatest reverence) Oh, Clem- 
ent, think of it! Here we are, sitting in a real author's 
room. (Turning.) That is his typewriter. 

Mr. H. — So I have been aware all the time, and oc- 
cupying the only comfortable chair in the room. 

(Mrs. H. rises and goes over to the desk.) 

Mrs. H. — And oh, Clement, here is his pen and blank 
paper. I wonder if I could take just one sheet of paper 
as — as a souvenir? 

Mr. H. — I wouldn't. He might have them counted. 

Mrs, H. — Nonsense! (She takes a sheet, folds it 
and stuffs it in her girdle.) 

Mr. H. — Lucy! 

Mrs. H. — (coming down stage) My dear, his last 
play ran forty weeks on Broadway. 



Merely Anne Marie 37 

Mr. H. — Poor thing. It must have been pretty well 
played out. 

Mrs. H. — Clement, wouldn't it be glorious if Belin- 
da caught him? 

Mr. H. — He's not the one for Belinda. 

Mrs. H. — I don't see why. 

Mr. H. — You wouldn't. 

M7's. H. — She's beautiful and attractive. 

Mr. H. — She hasn't an original idea in her head. 

(Voices without.) 

Mrs. H. — Hush! He's coming. (Sits demurely.) 

Mrs. T. — (without) Mrs. Hale! Mrs. Hale! 

Mrs. H. — (rising and going toward, door) Yes, Mrs. 
Teague, I'm in here. (The center door oqjens and Mrs. 
T. appears on the threshold.) 

Mrs. T. — I've fetched you a surprise box this time. 
(She stands aside and Belinda enters and runs iyito her 
aunt's arms.) 

Belinda — Aunt Lucy! 

(Hale rises.) 

Mrs. H. — (kissing her) My dear Belinda! 

Belinda — (going to her uncle) And Uncle Clement! 
(She kisses him gingerly.) 

Mr. H. — Come, come! Give your old uncle a de- 
cent kiss. 

Belinda — B^t you're so prickly. (She kisses him 
again, gingerly.) 

Mrs. H. — Of course you are, Clement, and she has 
such a delicate skin. 

Mrs. T. — I'll go up to fix Anne Marie's room for her. 
You can come along when you like. 

Mrs. H. — Very well, Mrs. Teague. (Mrs. T. goes 
off c. d.) 

Belinda — (glancing about.) Whoso room is this? 
(Hale walks to the window.) 



Merely Anne Marie 



Mrs. U. — It's his! The playwright I sent you the 
special delivery about. 

Belinda — Oh, really? (Looks about with interest.) 

Mrs. H. — We were making a little call just to show 
our neighborliness. 

Mr. H. — (irith a chuckle i By the way, isn't that 
telephone message rather lengthy? 

Belinda — Telephone message? 

Mrs. H. — Yes, he was called to the phone a minute 
or two ago. 

Belinda — Is he coming back here? 

Mr. H. — I think not, directly. I see him crossing the 
snow toward Pelham. 

Mrs. H. — (running to ivindow) What! But he said 
he would return. He said for- us to wait. (Belinda fol- 
lows her ojunt to window.) 

I Hale chuckles.) 

Mr. H. — So we caa, if we're patient. 

Belinda — Who's the girl with him? 

Mr. H. — It looks to me strangely like Anne Marie 
Perkins. 

Belinda — ( contempt iionsli/ ) Anne Marie Perkins? 

M7S. H. — A girl Mrs. Teague has taken to help her 
out in the kitchen. 

Belinda, — (comi)i(/ down stage) So that's the com- 
pany he keeps. 

Mrs. H. — He won't now, dear — that you have come. 

Belinda — Is this Anne Perkins pretty? 

Mrs. H. — (emphaticallij I No! 

Mr. H. — (emphatically I Yes! 

Mys. H.— She isn't. Clement. (To Belinda.) My 
dear, she's plain. 

Bel'nda — Any style? 

Mrs. H. — None. 

Hale — Plenty. ( emphaticalbj. ) 



Merely Anne Marie 39 

Mrs. H. — (getting excited) Belinda, she's positive- 
ly skinny. 

Mr. H. — (fairly roaring) But, isn't that style? 

(Belinda laughs.) 

Mrs. H. — My dear, she's no competitor for you at 
all. He's lonely and there's no one else. 

Belinda — Well, he won't be lonely any more for I've 
come. (Takes her aunt's arm.) Let's go to my room. I 
want to get my wraps off. 

(They go off arm in arm, Clement Hale follovnng, 
as the curtain falls. / 

CURTAIN 



ACT III. 



Time — One week later. Morning. 

Scene — Same as Act I. Mrs. Teague's dining room. 

Discovered — Belinda in chair at the left end of the 
dining table facing the audience. Carrington is seated 
beside her. They are drinking milk and eating cookies, 
having just returned fiom a morning walk. Before cur- 
tain rises, they can be heard singing the follotvirig dit- 
ty in a monotone. After the rise of the curtain, they{ 
sing it again. 

Two little mousies 
Running through a field. 
One got plowed through 
And, oh, how he squealed! 

One little mousie 
Left all alone. 
Gave up running 
And turned to a stone. 



40 Merely Anne Mane 

Belinda — [foolishly) Two little mousies — 

Car.-—(mternifpting) Please, Belinda! 

Belinda — Please, what? 

Car. — Be sensible. You promised — 

Belinda — I will now. I just wanted to prove to my- 
self I could make a fool of you. 

Car. — Are you satisfied? 

Belinda — Quite. You have exceeded my maddest 
expectations. 

Car. — (talinn the pitcher) Hnve another glass? 

Belinda — (shocked) I never drink more than one 
glass. The second makes one fat. < Closes her eyes.) 
And if 1 should get fat, I'd die! 

Car. — But, Belinda, permit me to say you would be 
very charming — plump. 

Belinda — Never, John! 

Car. — (admiringly ) Think of the dimples you would 
have. 

Belinda — And the chins! No, I'd rather be slender 
than have a thousand dimples. (Nibbles a cracker dain- 
tily.) Besides, I'm fairly plump now. If I get any 
plumper 1 shall go to Arna. 

Car. — Arna? 

Belinda — You're not familiar with the beauty doc- 
tors. 

Car. — Belinda, I'm shocked. 

Belinda — That's because you don't know me. Mercy! 
I have a score of appointments a week with beauty spe- 
cialists. On Monday I go to Chalmers for massage. On 
Tuesday to Lizette for scalp treatment. On Wednesday 
to Lizette for manicure. On Thursday to — 

Car. — (horrified) Don't. You distress me. 

Belinda — (lightly) Really? Why, I had a lot more 
to tell. I was going to tell you about having my face 
peeled. A very trying operation. 

Car. — Having your face peeled? 



Merely Anne Marie 41 



Belinda — Um-um. To take away the wrinkles. It's 
a very painful operation. 

Car. — (ivith deepest sympathy) It must be. 

Belinda — Then, having one's eyebrows plucked! 
That's painful, too. 

Car. — Heavens, how you must suffer! 

Belinda— (seriously) I do— frightfully. No one 
has any sympathy for me, though. 

Car. — But why do you have those dreadful things 
done? You — you are quite beautiful as it is. 

Belinda— That'?, sweet of you to say so, but I don't 
agree. Then, too, what would I do mornings if I didn't 
have treaments. Why, they're the only things I have to 
think of. I'm terribly interested now in a method 
whereby eyelashes are stuck into the lids and made to 
take root. 

Car. — Horrors! Whose eyelashes? 

Belinda — (laughing) Anyone's that isn't vain. A 
Frenchman is trjdng out the method and with good suc- 
cess. 

Car. — But you wouldn't have that done! 

Belinda — Oh, yes I would. 

Car. — You have wonderful lashes, and they curl. 

Belinda— '^oi half so wonderful as I might have. 

Car. — Oh, you mustn't, you know — really. 

Car. — Please, Belinda, promise me you won't do 
these dreadful things. 

Belinda — Of course I will, silly. 

Car. — But I — I am serious. 

Belinda — Well, you mustn't be with me. 1 never al- 
low a man to be serious with me. 

Car. On principle? (He spills some milk on trou- 

ser leg.) 

Belinda — On principle. (She sops up the milk with 
her handkerchief.) There, you have spilled your milk, 
you na-ughty boy. And 1 sha'n't allow you another suit 



42 Merely Anne Marie 

this season. Don't you know milk is greasy and you 
must be especially careful. 

Car. — (catching her hand) Belinda! 

Belinda — (in the .'fa me tone she woidd use with a 
hah^j) A-ah! 

Car. — (drawing aivaij his hand) You are very se- 
vere. 

Belinda — I have to be. i Looking at him earnestly) 
Are you angry? (Pause./ Are you? 

Car.- — (smiling) No, I'm well aware I ought to be, 
but I'm not. 

Belinda — (siveetly) No one ever gets angry with 
me, not even papa, when I overdraw three times in suc- 
cession at the bank. (Giving a final rub.) There. That 
will do until you can get to the tailor. Really I ought to 
have used hot water. One should use hot water for 
greasy things, you know. 

Car. — You are very clever. (Looking at his knee.) 
It has gone completely. 

Belinda — Yes. I can always get rid of things I don't 
want to see. 

Car. — Ah, Belinda, I don't doubt it, and not only 
things, either. 

Belinda — Now, I suppose you think [ want to get rid 
of you. 

Car. — I with some alarm) Do you? 

Beli7ida — Not yet. Why, I've only known you a week. 
Of course, I've been with you nearly every minute of 
that time, but even I don't tire of a man as quickly as 
that. 

Car. — I don't like to hear you talk that way. 

Belinda — Oh, yes you do. You must, because that's 
m> v^ay of talking, and, well — you seem to like it. 

Car. — I wish, Belinda, you'd take me seriously. 

Belinda — Oh, you poor dear, I can't; not even if you 
are the famous playwright, John Arthur Carringten. 



Merely Anne Marie 43 



Car. — Belinda, will you marry me? 

Belinda— i:\\e fourth time, and when I've told you I 
could never marry an artist. You're too temperamental, 
and I shouldn't appreciate you. I want a man, a plain, 
rather stupid sort of man, who hasn't an original idea 
in his head, and who will think of nobody but me. 

Car. — But surely I can do that. 

Belinda — You think so, now, but there would come 
a time when — oh, you know the old story, Pierrot loves 
his music — 

Car. — I swear — 

Belinda— Hhen you aren't stupid enough. 

Car. — I'm sorry. 

Belinda— And I should hate you when you were 
writing a play— and you would always be writing plays. 

Car.— (rafihhj) I'll give up playwriting. (She 
laughs.) I'll do anything, if you'll marry me. 

Belinda — Will you go wherever I ask you, to — pink 
teas? Receptiorjs? Musical soirees? And be my own- 
est, sweetest little puppy dog, obedient and docile? 

Car.— Yes. 

Belinda^- And you'll never mention playwriting? 

Cor. — Never. 

Belinda — And you'll sell your typewriter and all the 
paraphernalia of a writer? 

Car. Yes. 'He tighs unconscioushj.i 

Belinda— (rising) Very well— I'll consider your of- 
fer. 

(He attempts to take her hand, bnt she draivs it 
airay.) 

Belinda— ^'ou may come to me within half an hour, 
and I will tell you— yes or no. (She gathers up her 
wraps. He rises and assists her mechanically. Suddenly 
Belinda laughs heartily.) 

Car.— (alarmed) What is it? Don't! 



44 Merely Arine Marie 



Belinda — I am laughing because you are the first 
man that ever made me take a thing seriously and I don't 
like it. (Exit d. I.) 

(He stands a second gazinc) after her, then gathers 
vp his ivraps wearily and starts for d. I., pist as A. M. 
enters c. d. She ivears a gingham apron.) 

A. M. — (feigning indifference) Good morning, Mr. 
Carrington. 

Car. — (scarcely aware of her presence) Good morn- 
ing. (Eq^it d. I.) 

(A. M. buries her head on the table and weeps.) 
A. M. — Oh, I can't bear it! I can't bear it! 
(Enter Mrs. T. c. d.) 

Mrs. T. — For heaven's sake, Anne Marie, what is 
it? 

(A. M. jiunps up, ivipes her eyes hastily, takes her 
cloth and polish from her pocket and goes for the silver 
in the sideboard drawer.) 

Mrs. T. — Anne Marie Perkins, I know what you're 
crying about, and you needn't try to conceal the fact 
that you're crying. I told you from the first your imag- 
ination would be your ruin. You have let it run away 
with you just as I said you would, when you ought to 
have known he didn't mean business. 

A. M. — (half sobbing bnt making a mighty effort) 
I think he did, but I can't compete with Belinda. 

Mrs. T. — Of course, you can't, and why aren't you 
sensible about it? 

A. M. — (coolly) I mean I think I can. 

Mrs. T. — Anne Marie Perkins, you're ^tark, staring 
mad. Belinda's beautiful. 

A. M. — But Fm cle\er. 

Mrs. T. — Well, of all things. 

A. M. — Pm loads cleverer than Belinda. 



Merely Anne Marie 45 

Mrs. T. — A man doesn't care anything about a clev- 
er wife. 

A. M. — Oh, yes, he does, if she's stylish, too. 

Mrs. T. — Well, for heaven's sake, Anne Marie, how 
can you expect to be stylish? 

A. M. — Because I know what style is. (She pulls 
off her gingham apron.) Look! 

Mrs. T. — Good lord! 

A. M. — (twirling about) It's mine! 

Mrs. r.— Youi's? 

A. M. — I bought it with the money I had saved for 
my shorthand course. 

Mrs. T. — Anne Marie Perkins, you have gone mad. 

A. M. — (calmly) Perhaps I have risked a good deal. 
It cost one hundred dollars. 

Mrs. T. — (aghast) You bought it to get him? 

A. M.— Yes. 

Mrs. T. — And you are too late. 

A. M. — Too late? What do you mean? ( She goes 
to Mrs. T.) 

Mrs. T. — He asked Belinda to marry him a few min- 
utes ago. 

A. M.— Oh! 

Mrs. T. — (taking her by the shoulder) Come, now. 
Put on your apron and go at the silver. I suppose you've 
got to consider this dress one of the mistakes of your 
life. 

(A. M. sits, takes up her cloth and starts to polish. 
Mrs. T. watches her a moment, nods in satisfaction arid 
goes off d. c. A. M. puts down her cloth immediately and 
rests her chin on her hands, and stares straight ahead.) 

(Enter Mr. H. d. I.) 

Mr. H. — Well, well, well! Day-dreaming? 

A. M. — No, just regretting. 



46 Merely Anne Marie 

Mr. H. — (coming over to hen You haven't come to 
regret things at your tender age. What is it? 

A. M. — Nothing — that is, I can't tell. 

Mr. H. — Has he been rotten to you? 

A. M. — No, not exactly. 

Mr. H.— Is it Belinda? Urn? 

A. M. — He' — he has asked her to marry him. 

Mr. H. — Let me tell you something. He's not in love 
with Belinda. 

A. M. — (rising and walking down stage) Oh, yes, 
he is — fearfully — awfully in love with her. iH. watches 
her with admiration. > 

Mr. H. — Whe-ew! Some gown, my lady. 

A. M. — (d,v<interestedly) Do you like it? 

Mr. H. — Jove! It's a creation. It's art! I always 
said you had the figure. (Goes to her.) Has he seen it? 

A. M. — (smiling i No. 

Mr. H. — Let him. 

A. M. — ^What's the use — now? 

Mr. H. — Because if he saw you in that, my dear, 
he'd chuck a thousand Belinda's. It's distinctive. 

A. M. — I have invested my last cent in it. 

Mr. H. — It's worth it. By Jove, you'll win. I'll bet 
you win. I'll bet a thousand you win. He knows a good 
looking woman when he sees one, if that's what he's 
after, 

A. M. — ( sadhi ) i"m afraid he is. 

Mr. H. — (with enthusiasm ) GJo to him with that 
dress on before Belinda makes up her mind. 

A. M. — Hasn't she made up her mind? 

Mr. H. — No, you have twenty minutes. 

A. M.— Oh, but— 

Mr. H. — Yets, yes. I want you to have him. You 
are the one for him. I like you, and I like him. I want 
to see you married. 



Merely Anne Marie 47 



(Enter Miss Wimple, d. I.) 

Miss W. — (starting back I Oh, I hope I'm not in- 
truding. I — I want to speak to Anne Marie. 

Mr. H. — Certainly — certainly, speak away, but don't 
speak longer than twenty minutes, ( Eodt d. I.) 

Miss W. — (noting goicnj My dear, my dear, you 
look like a picture in Vogue ! 

A. M. — Yes, yes, I know it, but what is it? 

Miss W. — (coming down stage) I am going to mar- 
ry Mr. Pratt. 

.4. M. — He has asked you again? 

A//.S.S W. — Yes. He is to meet me here in five min- 
utes and I — I am to give him my answer. 

A. M. — He is a very fine man. Miss Wimple. 

Miss W. — And ^o romantic. The other night he 
showed me a play he had written. It was wonderful. 
Full of moonlights and fountains and balconies with 
trailing vines. 

A. M. — It was a good play. 

Miss W. — Wasn't it? And I do like him with a 
clipped mustache. It's rather cavalierish and all that. 
Then his clothes! Clothes do make an awful dilference. 

A. M. — (thoughtfully ) You think so? I'm just 
wondering how much difference they do make. (A door 
slams.) 

Miss W. — He's coming! (Fluffs her hair.) I heard 
the front door close.' 

A. M. — I'll go. (She starts toioard c. d. just as Mrs. 
T. swings it open and pokes her head in.) 

Mrs. T. — Miss Wimple, come here just for a minute, 
won't you? (Disappears.) (A. M. puts on her gingham 
apron.) 

Miss. W. — (to A. M.) Oh, dear! Wait and explain 
to him. I'll be right back. (She goes off c. d. as Mr. P. 
enters d. I.) 

Mr. P. — Has she come? 



48 Merely Anne Marie 

A. M. — She has been here, but Mrs. Teague called 
her for a minute. She will be right back. 

Mr. P.— It's all right. It gives me a chance to tell 
you how grateful I am to you. She — she seems to look 
upon me favorably since I took your advice. 

A. M.—Vm glad, Mr. Pratt. 

Mr. P. — She read your play. 

A. M. — I'm awfully glad I could do anything for you. 

Mr. P. — And then your advice about my clothes. 

A. M.— lt helped? 

Mr. P. — Oh, marvelously. I paid more for this suit 
than I have for my last three, but I'm not grumbling. 
It's been worth it to me. It's made her take notice. It's 
made me someone in her eyes. 

A. M.- — Do you really think that clothes make all 
that difference? 

Mr. P. — (fervently) I do. 

A. M. — Oh, it can't be true. 

(Enter Mi^s W. c. d.) 

Miss W. — ( ivith eyes for no one but Mr. P.i Oh, 
you're here. I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting, but 
Mrs. Teague seems rather upset. You'd better go to her, 
Anne Marie. 

A. M. — I think I won't. I'm tired of going to her. 

(She laalks off quietly d. I.) 

Mr. P. — You — you are going to marn,- me? (He 
holds out his arms and. she goes to him and rests het} 
head shyly on his shoulder.) 

Miss W. — Yes — Clarence. (Pause.) Isn't this ro- 
mantic ? 

Mr. P. — To me, you are romance. 

Miss W. — I? Oh, no, dear — you. You make me 
feel as if this vulgar room were Venice, this crude floor 
a gondola and there was moonlight over all. (Breaks 
airay from him gently.) I can hear the splash of waves 



Merely Anne Marie 49 

and feel the waft of warm air against my cheek. When 
I am with you it will always be Venice, my dear. 

Mr. P. — (enthralled) You are wonderful. 

Miss W. — (coming down stage) And to think, love, 
I once denied myself — this. Oh, I was blind. I was 
deaf. 1 was ignorant. I didn't know you. 

Mr. P. — (follotving her J I forgive you a thousand 
times. It was my own fault, I know now. 

(Mrs. T.'s head appears at c. d.) 

Mrs. T. — Anne Ma-rie-e-e! (Seeing them together) 
Oh, 1 didn't know — 

Mr. P. — (quickly) It's all right, Mrs. Teague. 

Miss W.' — (taking Mr. P.'s arm) Come, love. Our 
dream must not be interrupted harshly. Let us glide on. 

(She leads him off d. I. dreamily, Mrs. T. staring 
lifter them.) 

Mrs. T. — In the name of heaven, has everyone gone 
mad? She's mad, that's certain, and he's mad, too, mad 
as a March hare, of course he is, or he'd never marry 
her. They're both mad. Anne Marie-e-e! 

(Enter A. M. d. I.) 

A. M. — Yes. 

Mrs. T. — You'd better set the table. It's quarter of 
twelve. I've just had a call to go over to my sister's. The 
dinner's about ready. I can depend on you? 

A. M. — (with a sigh) Yes. 

Mrs. T'.— That's the girl. 1 see you've come to your 
senses. (Regarding the apron with approval.) That's 
right. Clothes never got anyone anything worth while. 
Teague proposed to 7ne in a blue calico apron. There's 
nothing in it, (Earnestly.) Then I can depend on you? 

A. M. — (dully) Yes. (Mrs. T. goes off c. d.) 

(A. M. pulls aside apron and looks at her dress, then 
pulls the apron tightly around her and goes for the ta^ 

blecloth.) 



50 Merely Anne Marie 

(Enter Mr. H. d. I. ) 

Mr. H. — Anne Marie. 

A. M. — (tmningi Yes, Mr. Hale. 

Mr. H. — Belinda has refused him. 

A. M. — She — she has refused him! 

Ml'. H. — Yes, and he's pretty much broken up — at 
least he thinks he is. He's getting ready for a cross- 
country tramp — doen's want to eat and all that rot. He'll 
go out by the front door. Catch him as he goes by and 
see that he eats something before he starts. 

A. M. — No — no, I can't. 

Mr. H. — You must. Come, come! I depend on you. 
Take off that ridiculous apron. I Goes to her and at- 
tempts to xnhtiiton apron. ' 

A. M.— No! No! 

Mr. H. — Anne Marie! You must obey me. Stand 
still and let me take off this hideous, m.isshapen piece of 
calico. 

A. M. — But I don't want to win him with a dress. 

Mr. H. — Rot! You won't be. (She stands still and 
he takes off the apron and holds it on his arm.) You'll 
just be trapping him. It will make him sit up and take 
notice. The winning comes later. 

(A. M. shakes her head dnbioasly.j 

A. M. — I'm — I'm afraid it's unprincipled. 

Mr. H. — Bosh! i Regarding her.) Jove, you're 
stunning. 

A. M. — I with a sight I wish I felt so. 

Mr. H. — (listening) Hush! He's coming. Do your 
best for him. You can. (Exit d. I.) 

(A. M. stands a moment, rigid. Steps are heard 
without.) 

A. A/.—- Mr. Carrington. (She goes d. I.) 

Car. — (from the hall) Yes? 

A. M. — Will you come here, please? 



Merely Anne Marie 51 



(Enter Car. He regards her in amazement, hut tries 

to conceal the fact.) 

Car.— I— I— 

A. M.— Yes? 

Car. — I was about to say. (During the following 
conversation he watches her every motion and his admir- 
ation groivs.) 

A.. M. — Yes? You were about to say? 

Car. — That — that — (pause ) 

A. M. — (taking pity on him) That you woudn't be 
here for dinner? 

Car. — Yes — just that. 

A. M. — (coming back to the chair) You are going 
for a tramp? 

Car.— Yes. 

A. M. — But surely you want something to eat first. 

Car. — No, no. (Comes down ntage.) 

A. M. — Please. You'd be sorry if you had to kill a 
bear and then it might be a case of him killing you first. 

Car. — It wouldn't matter much if he did. 

A. M. — ( winningly ) Please have a few sandwiches 
and a piece of cake. If you starved I should feel respons- 
ible. I should regret it all my life. 

Car. — It isn't your fault if I starve. It's — hers. She 

A. M. — (qi'ickli/) I know, and I'm sorry if she has 
made you unhappy. 

Car. — (regarding her earnesthf) Thank you^g^-m- 
lyl She isn't. 

A. M. — Perhaps she can't help it — not caring. Per- 
haps it's her way. 

Car. — She told me she had a heart of sawdust and 
I believe it. 

A. M. — I wish you wouldn't take things so hard It 
won't make her relent, and it takes a lot out of you. 



52 Merely Anne Marie 

Car- -1 can't help it. 

A. M. — {coming doivn stage and standing behind 
him) Yes, you can. Just remember there's many a 
man and woman, too, who has been through it and is 
happy today. 

Car. — I offered to give up playwriting for her. 

A. M. — (with a smile) Ah, then you are saved from 
a very great unhappiness, I am sure. How wretched you 
would have been after a while. (Earnestly,) Don't you 
see you must have a sympathetic wife? 

Car. — (crossing to left) They are all alike — women. 

A. M. — (smiling) You know better than that. You 
told me so, yourself, once. 

Car. — I take back everything I ever said about them 
except my last remark. 

A. M. — And — and you judge ail women by Belinda? 
That's not fair. 

Car. — I think so. 

A. M. — I'm not like Belinda. I wouldn't have treated 
a man as she has treated you. (Pair.se.) You don't be- 
lieve me, do you? 

Car. — You are asking me to believe the impossible. 

A. M. — It isn't the thing that is impossible. It's 
the circumstances preceding it that have made it seem 
impossible to you. 

Car. — Perhaps. 

A. M. — And you will think I'm jealous if I say I 
don't believe Belinda is the one for you. 

Car, — Why don't you? 

A. M. — Because she is so horribly out of sympathy 
with all that is dear&st in life to you. You think now 
you could give up your work but you couldn't. You would 
try, and be continually unhappy, and that would be 
bad, horribly, cruelly bad. 

Car. — But I would be satisfied to have iust Belinda. 



Merehj Anne Marie 5:$ 



A. M. — (with an effort) No, you have too active a 
brain to be satisfied with just Belinda. She's — she's not 
your kind at all. (During the following speech she walks 
back and forth frequently and he watches her as if in a 
dream.) She is entertaining and says cute things and 
has a superficial knowledge but after a while you would 
die mentally and that's the worst kind of a death. (She 
is very earnest in her talk and isn't for a minute con- 
scious of her gown.) Belinda's like a clever little trick 
dog. She knows so much and no more. She doesn't 
think for herself and she's not original. After you had 
become accustom.ed to her trained phrases you would 
find yourself bored. She's all on the surface and you're 
all for sounding the depths. You — you would be wretched 
in her companionship. Then, Belinda's no sport and you 
are. She likes to look beautiful and after a while you'd 
hate that. It would be so stupid. She likes pink teas 
and receptions where you scarcely ever hear wit of any 
kind, and where manners get to be a burden. Oh, I could 
go on for an hour, but you are angry with me, are you 
not? (She stops before him.) 

Car. — Angry No, I was thinkinj? how strangely be- 
coming that gown is to you. 

A. M. — (flopping into the nearest chair) Oh! 

Car. — You'll forgive me. I'm — I'm not myself. 

A. M. — (looking at him earnestly i Aren't you? Are 
you quite sure? 

Car.— Quite. Why? 

A. M. — Because I think you are yourself now. It 
was last week you Wv;re not yourself. You've been aw- 
fully silly. 

Car.—Silly? I? 

A. M. — Terribly. 1 felt bad for you at times. 

Car. — (coolly) Indeed? 

A. M. — You quite lost your head. You reminded 
me of a love-sick school boy. I wouldn't have believed it 
of you, Mr. Carrington. (Rises and comes down stage.) 



54 Merely Anne Marie 

Car. — I suppose you consider yourself above such 
things. 

^4. M. — Above a foolish infatuation — yes; and I'm 
only eighteen. 

Car. — Infatuation ? 

A. M. — That's what it was. But I'm not above fall- 
ing in love deeply and desperately. (With a sigh.) 
Car. — Are you very sure it's love? 
A. M. — Very — because at times it makes me suffer 
here (her hand on her heart) and it's unselfish, and then, 
oh, wonderful! 

Car.— You have exi)erienced a great deal. 
A. M. — Yes. and all within a week. 
Car.— Really ? 
A. M.— Really. 

Car. — (offering his hand I Accept my sympathy. 
A. M. — (solemrdy) Thank you. (Takes his hand.) 
Car. — It helps to know another suffers from the 
same malady. 

4. M. — Ye.s, I feel better already since v>-s shook 
hands. 

Car. — Do you mind telling me about your affair? 
You needn't mention any names unless you wish. 

A. M. — Not at ail. But let's sit down. tTheij sit 
opposite each other, i Of course, it's rathe- a delicate 
thing for a girl to admil that a man threw htr over for 
another — 

Car. — ('wraihf(dly) He did that? 
^. M. — Um-um. and the worst part of it is he does- 
n't seem to realize how he's hurt me. 
Car. — The brute! 

A. M. — When I first saw him I knew he was the one 
man in the world for me. I felt it. 
Car.' — But of course, he wasn't 
^_ M.— 0\i. yes, he was, but he doesn't realize it. 



Merely Anne Marie 55 



Car. — The wretch ! What are you going to do 
about it? 

A. M.- — I don't know. What would you do? 

Car. — Well, of course, you might propose. 

A. M. — But don't you think that's rather unmaid- 
enly? 

Car. — Not at all. I think it shows rather a fine 
spirit in a girl — provided, of course, she takes a refusal 
as a man does. 

A. M. — As a man does! But isn't that taking it 
rather hard? 

Car. — (quickly) I mean, if she doesn't put up the 
cry of wounded pride that chivalry has given her ?ex. 
A. M. — (rising) I see. 
Car. — ( folloiving lur) Are you game? 
A. M.— Game? 
Car. — For a refusal? 
A. M. — I — don't know. 

Car. — Then you aren't the girl I thought you. 
A. M.- — I didn't know you ever gave me a thought. 

Car. — I gave you a good many the first day I met 
you, and I've given you a good many more since I saw 
you in that very charming gown. 

A. M. — (distressed) Oh, please don'c say that. 

Car. — (crossing right) I thought you liked frank- 
ness. 

A. M. — I do, but I don't like to think you're so silly. 

Car. — Silly? (She goes to the sideboard and takes 
out a box.) 

A. M. — As to be trapped by a gown. 

Car. — What is that for? (Indicating box.) 

A. M. — I am going to pack some sa.ndwiches for you. 
I don't want you to go hungrj-, or to have to kill bears. 



5G Merely Anne Marie 

Car. — I'm not going out. 
A. M. — Not going out? 

Car. — I'm going to stay home and eat my dinner 
and be sensible as you advise. (She looks at him and 
smiles wistfully.) If you can endure disappointment — - 
and have the grit to get a dinner I can eat it. 

A. M. — Has my sympathy meant all that to you? 

Car. — EverythiniJ!-. (Starts to d I.) 

A. M. — Whenever you need any more, I will give it. 

Car.— (coming back to her) I will need it often. 
Will you be patierit? 

A. M. — Very. 

(He starts off again.) 

A. M. — Mr. Carrington? 

Car.— Yes? 

A. M. — Does it matter what I wear on these occa- 
sions ? 

Car. — It really doesn't; but so long as you have that 
very charming gown, I think you might as well wear it. 
(Exit d.l.) 

(A. M. stands a moment looking at her dress.) 

A. M. — I wonder! I wonder! 

(Voices from, the hall.) 

A. M. — (running to the door) .Heavens! They are 
coming to dinner and I have not prepared it. 

(She runs off c. d.) 

(Enter d. I. Mr. and Mrs. Clement Hale, Mr. Pratt, 
Miss Wimple.) 

Mrs. H. — (to Mr. H.) Did you notice how preoccu- 
pied he was? Poor fellow! 

Mr, H. — (spying the bare table; Preoccupied? Some- 
one else is preoccupied, too. 



Merely Anne Marie 57 



Mrs. H. — (looking at table with disgust) Oh, Anne 
Marie? Well, she always is. 

(Mr. P. and Miss W. are engrossed in each other.) 

Mr. H. — But not to this point, my dear. Mrs. 
Teague has left her alone before, but we have always had 
something on the table, no matter how humble. 

Mr. P. — (coming to) No dinner? Well — (He is 
really hungry.) 

Miss W. — (cooingly) Oh, Clarence, dear, surely 
you don't mind today of all days. I've some pepper- 
mints in my room. 

Mr. H. — (in utter disgust) Peppermints! 

Mrs. H. — Let's be seated, anyway. (She sits in her 
customary place.) 

Mr. H. — (sitting) And go through the form. (Miss 
W. and Mr. P. sit.) 

Mrs. H. — (in a louder voice than is necessary ) The 
truth is, the whole household is upset because Belinda 
has refused Mr. Carrington. 

(Enter A. M. c. d., much flushed. She carries a tray 
with bread and butter, teacups, etc.) 

A. M. — (setting the tray on the table and beginning 
to arrange the cups.) Oh, I'm sorry! Mrs. Teague left 
me to get dinner and I've burned everything. I'm so 
sorry ! 

Mr. H. — (with a chuckle) I wouldn't be, my dear. 
If I had a gown like that and looked so well in it, I would- 
n't be sorry for anything. 

Mrs. H. — Clement! 

A.M. — I'll be as quick as possible. (Exit c. d.) 

(Mr. H. passes cups, plates and spoons.) 

Mrs. H. — Where did she get it? 

Mr. H. — I don't know, If I did, I'd send and get 
you one, my dear. 



58 Merely Anne Marie 

(Enter Cai . He r/oes quietly to his chair.) 

Mr. H.— Hulloa ! 

Mrs. H. — f leaning forirard and touching his arm) 
My dear boy. iln a voice of deepest sympathy.) I did- 
n't think you'd have any appetite, i Looks toward Miss 
W. and Mr. P., who are cooing to each other.) To think 
you might have been like the-m — two love birds. 

Car. — (looking toward them) I beg of you — 

Mrs. H. — Belinda's cruel ! 

Mr. i7.— Well, well, there are women in the world 
who aren't. 

Car.— Yes. 

x1/ ■ . H. — Attractive women. 

Car. — (if- the same monotone) Yes. 

Mr. H. — Clever women. 

Car. — Yes. 

(Enter A. M. with cream and some cake.) 

Mr. H. — idyly) Close at hand. 

Car. — Y-yes. 

I A. M. !<f<i.!-ts filling cups, goiyig first to Mr. H.) 

Mr. //.—A good strong cup for me, my dear. No 
sugar. No milk. (She attends him. Passes on to Mrs. 
H.) 

Mrs, H.- -Mine- -very weak. (A. M. mixes it.) I 
don't generally take it at noon, but — 

Mr. H. — {seeing A. M. is flustered i Hush, Lucy, 
it will do you good. 

(A. M. looks toward Miss W.) 

Mr. H. — i in a whisper) Don't bother with them, 
my dear. They are in Venice, drinking red wine. 

(A. M. passes on to Car.) 

A. M. — And you, Mr. Carrington? 

Car. — Just cream, if you please. (She pours cream) 



Merely Anne Ma/rie 



59 



A. M. — Say when — 

(He is looking into her face. Suddenly she looks 
wp and they stare into each other's eyes while the creari% 
overflows the cup and the saucer and the table and the 
boarders watch spellbound as the curtain falls.) 



CURTAIN 



^ 



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Christmas Material 



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reat spirit of Christmas and tells, how the glad 
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A moving picture Christmas play, by Edna Randolph 
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any number of chi!dre:i. Plays about 30 minutes. 25c. 

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FRANKLIN, OHIO also DENVER, COLO. 

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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New Song-Recitations 



LJERE is a list of very clever child- 
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Ain't It The Limit? ) 

When You Ask Ahout Your Fixins f 



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If Santa Shouldn't Come To Me ) _^ 
Fve Been And Had The Measles ) "soc 



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944 S. Logan St. 



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